Brandenburg

by Henry Porter

  34

  Dark Energy

  Vladimir turned from the window and dropped the phone onto its cradle. Rosenharte hadn’t understood a word he’d said, and Vladimir’s manner and inflection gave nothing away. After a moment’s deliberation in which he moved a few things around his desk, Vladimir looked him straight in the eye. ‘She’s been taken to Hohenschönhausen. Biermeier also. They’re being held in isolation and neither has any idea of the other’s presence there.’

  Rosenharte lowered his eyes then raised them to Vladimir, conscious that his chin was thrust forward. Even now, as the new premier Egon Krenz returned empty-handed from his summit with Gorbachev in Moscow to face a bankrupt economy, as millions demonstrated and the border with Czechoslovakia reopened to placate them, the dark energy at the heart of the state did not wane.

  ‘And . . . she’s sick,’ said Vladimir. His steady gaze betrayed no feeling. ‘Some kind of respiratory infection. My source says pleurisy or bronchitis. Something she’s had for a while, possibly?’ Rosenharte thought of the dry little cough she’d developed while they were on the run and the almost translucent pallor he had noticed that first day.

  ‘Is there anything you can do?’ he asked.

  The Russian grimaced. ‘You must understand that I compromise myself every time I talk to you. I can’t make these decisions to interfere in the affairs of a sovereign state, not from the regional KGB headquarters and on a salary of eighteen hundred East German marks. What happens if you get caught and tell them about our conversations?’

  ‘I’m not going to get caught.’

  ‘But they’re watching for you. You saw how difficult it was to get you in here. The Stasi is still one of the most efficient secret services in the world. You’re mistaken if you think you’re going to walk into Hohenschönhausen and rescue your girlfriend. It’s not in my interest to facilitate your arrest and interrogation.’ He stopped and softened his tone. ‘Abu Jamal has been dealt with; Misha has been effectively neutralized because he has no network to operate through. You achieved what you set out to do: you should leave the country. The borders with Hungary are open again.’ Rosenharte began to shake his head, but Vladimir ignored him. ‘If you go, you can help your friend by using the Western media and publicizing what she and Biermeier did to save people’s lives. The Stasi don’t like high-profile prisoners because they’ve got to look after them.’ He smiled and offered Rosenharte a chunky silver cigarette case engraved with the initials VVP.

  ‘I’m not going to lose anyone else to that place,’ said Rosenharte quietly. ‘I won’t let her die there like Konrad. I can’t let that happen. One way or another I’m going in to get her, so it’s in your interest that I do this with the minimum of risk. It’s very important to you that I don’t get caught, isn’t it, Volodya?’ He intentionally deployed the nickname he’d heard the other Russians use when he entered Number Four Angelikastrasse that afternoon in the boot of a car.

  Vladimir shook his head and sat down. ‘That’s a form of blackmail. I won’t accept it, Rudi.’ He paused and handled the cigarette case, evidently getting some satisfaction from it. ‘In our game we always need a return on risk. I can’t help you unless I’m able to show my superiors there’s a substantial advantage.’

  ‘I’ve told you everything. I have nothing more to give.’

  ‘The man Harland - could you get him here?’ Vladimir picked up a pen and swivelled his chair to look out over the dismal view of East Dresden in the rain.

  ‘Why here?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Bring him here and I’ll help you. Tell him that there’s something in it for both of us. And for the Americans too.’

  ‘I must give them an explanation.’

  The Russian contemplated the pen, which he held between the tips of his index fingers, then looked over his shoulder and gave him a silent shake of the head. ‘No,’ he said at length. ‘No explanation.’

  ‘They will think it’s some kind of trap.’

  ‘They won’t. They know how much help we gave them on the Arab.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, we helped in the early stages. Ulrike Klaar’s first information to the West was confirmed by my service in the Yemen. Tell them there’s something else that we can cooperate on. Something very big.’

  Two possibilities occurred to Rosenharte. Either Vladimir was acting outside his authority or he was a more important player than he had let on. Perhaps the Dresden HQ was a kind of cover, concealing a more top-flight KGB operation than the down-at-heel offices would suggest. Perhaps Vladimir had no boss and was running things himself.

  ‘Okay. You provide the passes for myself and one other man and the release documentation in Ulrike’s name, and I will get them here for you. What about Biermeier?’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re in love with Biermeier too.’

  ‘He has a family. He has taken more risks than anyone. He’s a brave man and doesn’t deserve to be shot in the back of the head.’

  ‘It’s less easy to rescue Biermeier. They’ll vent the very worst of their fury on him. He may already have been executed. After all, my information about him being alive is a couple of days old.’ He got up and walked round the desk. ‘You don’t owe him anything. He was in the business. He knew the risks. Forget Biermeier. I’ll get the Stasi ID for you, but beyond that you’re on your own. You’ll need to arrange transport and at least one other man, probably two.’ He raised his finger close to Rosenharte’s face. ‘But I’m afraid you will have nothing from me until they are here. You understand these are the wishes of my superiors. Why don’t you make the call now?’

  ‘I have to tell them something. I have to offer an incentive.’

  Vladimir’s eyes slipped to a filing cabinet in the corner of the room. ‘Tell them that things are falling apart here, much more than anyone in the West appreciates. New travel laws will soon be discussed by the Central Committee and people are going to flood out of the country. Our estimates put the figure at two hundred thousand for this year alone. If they relax the travel restrictions the country is finished. But the profits of chaos are going to be very large indeed. Phone them now and tell them that.’

  Rosenharte tried to read his expression. What the hell did he mean?

  ‘There’s the phone; use it,’ said Vladimir.

  ‘I should spend some time thinking how to get them here. I’ve probably only got one chance at this.’ He made as though to leave, then thought better of it. ‘Are we talking about something you’re going to offer them? Something from the Stasi?’

  ‘Yes and no. I’ll show them how to get it for themselves, but they’re going to have to pay for it. A very large sum of money.’

  Rosenharte was now beginning to understand the strength of his position. Vladimir hadn’t agreed to speak to him because of Ulrike, but because he wanted him to act as an intermediary.

  ‘What about our exit - can you help with that?’

  ‘Ask the British.’

  He nodded and sat back in his chair. ‘There’s one other thing,’ he said. ‘Members of the Polish secret service have been trying to contact me for the last two months. With Konrad and now Ulrike being arrested I haven’t had time to discover why. Can you find out who they are and what they want? The Stasi were interested in them. They may have something on them.’

  Vladimir smiled. ‘We already have some information. The man who followed you to Trieste was formerly in the Polish secret service - Franciscek Grycko. The younger one, Leszek, is also in our business, though a less formidable operative.’

  ‘What reason did you have for looking into this?’

  ‘Because Zank was interested. Your friend at the museum, Sonja, was very helpful. We wanted to know who these Poles were and what they wanted from you.’

  ‘And what did you find out?’

  ‘Certain things have come to our notice. The first man was a fifty-eight-year-old veteran. A tough character who had had a very hard life. He entered the camps as a te
n-year-old, survived and became one of the Polish secret service’s best operatives. He used his contacts to find out that you were going to be in Trieste. He had someone in Schwarzmeer’s office we think, but we’re not sure. By the same means he had also requested, and has seen, some of the files on you. We know that.’

  ‘How could you know that?’

  Vladimir looked at him with his poker face and shrugged.

  ‘I was left a number by the younger one and I called him,’ said Rosenharte. ‘I was disturbed while making the call so we didn’t speak for long. The man said he wanted to talk about my natural mother.’

  ‘And that aroused your interest?’

  ‘Obviously.’ Rosenharte was unwilling to share the glimmer of an idea that had come to him on waking that day. ‘And I understood that whatever he wanted to say must have been important for this other man, Franciscek, to travel to Trieste when he was so ill.’

  ‘You’re convinced that he died of natural causes and that he wasn’t murdered?’

  ‘Yes, for the simple reason that no one had a motive to poison him. No one knew who he was. He just appeared out of the blue. His breath stank of chemicals, but maybe that can be explained by the use of drugs to control his condition.’ He paused. ‘What’s interesting is that the second man seemed to have this urge to contact either Konrad or me. He followed me all the way to Leipzig, then went out to Konrad’s home and left a note there with a telephone number.’

  ‘The behaviour would suggest a desperate rather than sinister motive,’ said Vladimir.

  Rosenharte nodded.

  ‘Well, you have the number, so phone him.’

  ‘I’d like you to make some inquiries on my behalf. You’ve got contacts, influence. Find out about them. Besides, I don’t know where I’m going to be. I can’t plan anything until I’ve got Ulrike out.’ He withdrew the note Else had given him and handed it to Vladimir before he could protest. Vladimir took it, shaking his head, and copied down the number.

  ‘I’m not promising anything,’ he said.

  ‘I understand,’ said Rosenharte, ‘but thank you.’

  Vladimir handed it back to him. ‘You haven’t let me down so far, and besides I’m beginning to like you. However, I won’t help with those passes unless I see Robert Harland.’

  ‘I’ll call later about the venue of the meeting and about my own operation at Hohenschönhausen. I need time to carry out a recce, so whatever I might feel on a personal level about the need for haste I won’t make my move until next week.’

  ‘That’s sensible. You’re talking like an intelligence officer. I hope it means you appreciate the need for caution and good judgement. You know that if they catch you they’ll shoot you straight away. Those disks you got from the West were a Trojan horse; they screwed up the mainframe in Normannenstrasse and now they are having to rebuild it. That’s your fault and the Stasi know it. If they arrest you they won’t even bother with interrogation. They’ll torture you and shoot you before the day’s out. It won’t be a pleasant death.’

  Rosenharte felt his neck and back go cold. The Stasi had Biermeier in custody and Biermeier was responsible for setting up the deal that brought the disks to East Germany. It wouldn’t take a genius to piece the whole thing together linking Ulrike, Biermeier and himself in a network of betrayal. Zank had probably put most of the pieces in place back in Leipzig. Yet Rosenharte disagreed with Vladimir about the summary executions. From what Konrad had told him the dark energy required everything to be in order, the plot to be recorded in laborious detail, the suspects wrung dry and their motives made explicit. Ulrike was therefore faced with the terrible prospect of having to hold out on Zank in order to remain alive.

  Vladimir’s eyes settled on Rosenharte as though he could see into his mind. Rosenharte looked away. ‘I need to know where she’s being held,’ he said. ‘What room, what floor? Also the times of her interrogations and the numbers of men involved. Anything that might be of use to me.’

  ‘Phone Harland now and I will see what I can do,’ Vladimir said, revolving his watch and glancing at the time.

  ‘One more thing,’ said Rosenharte. ‘They will want to know who they’re dealing with. I want your real name.’

  ‘I told you,’ said the Russian. ‘Major Vladimir Ilyich Ussayamov.’

  ‘Then why does your cigarette case bear different initials - VVP?’

  ‘That is observant of you. I did not know you could read our Cyrillic script.’

  ‘I know the alphabet. That’s all.’

  ‘VVP was a friend of my father’s who died in Leningrad. When my father died I inherited it.’

  ‘And the medallion, awarded to VVP for judo?’

  He smiled to indicate that he was not prepared to discuss the matter further. ‘Make the call, Dr Rosenharte.’

  Alan Griswald nursed a cup of coffee and examined Harland over his reading glasses. ‘I can’t go. Langley won’t allow it. And nor should you consider it, particularly if you haven’t got any kind of diplomatic cover. Does London know?’

  Harland stroked his chin.

  ‘Is that a yes or a no?’

  ‘I’ve got cover as a TV journalist and accreditation for the whole of next week. There’s a demonstration tomorrow in Alexanderplatz, Berlin - the biggest yet. London is anxious to know what the hell’s going on in East Germany so I said I would go and find out. What’s the problem if I have a word with the Sovs’ man in Dresden? I mean, they did help us on Abu Jamal. Without their material we’d never have taken Kafka seriously. Besides, we want to find out what they plan to do. They’ve got four hundred thousand men in the East. Are they going to stay put in their barracks or are they going to oil up the tank tracks and do another Prague? It’s important we know.’

  ‘Then send one of your people - someone who wasn’t involved in taking the Arab. Their counter-intelligence people are all over this thing. Kafka’s under arrest and her main collaborator is in the slammer too. What’s to be gained by you going over as an illegal? If London thinks you can pull this one off, Bobby, they’ve got a collective case of cranial-rectal penetration.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’ve got their heads up their asses. They’re nuts and so are you.’

  ‘But we owe Rosenharte.’

  Griswald’s finger had begun to wag at him before he finished. ‘No, Bobby, No! No! No! The man had his chance to leave and he didn’t take it. There’s still time for him to go but he won’t because of his girlfriend. If they’ve got this Abelard and Héloise thing going, that’s not your responsibility.’

  ‘Yes, but the brother’s dead and Zank is doing his demonic worst with Kafka and Biermeier. I need to look into this.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, don’t be a patsy. We got what we wanted and you did very, very well. Don’t tell me you’re going over to help them.’

  ‘If I can, I will.’

  ‘No, go and hear what the man says but don’t get near that damned jail. You’re not a knight in fucking armour, Bobby. You’re an intelligence officer with responsibilities.’

  ‘But what if the Sovs really have something to offer us?’

  ‘That’s a different matter. The Soviets look after themselves. Never forget that. This guy in Dresden, he’s small time. What can he offer?’

  ‘Access,’ replied Harland more testily than he meant to. ‘Access to the Stasi files. Things are unravelling there. Rosenharte actually put the guy on to me while we were speaking. It’s clear he’s been involved in some way. He knew a lot about the Arab, and he lives in the same city as Misha. Anyway, things are changing minute by minute over there and I want to hear what he’s got to say.’

  Griswald put down his coffee cup and looked round Harland’s office with the ill-concealed embarrassment of a wealthy relation.

  ‘We’re having it done up,’ said Harland. ‘Work starts next week. I got it through after the Arab started coughing his entire network.’

  ‘You mean to say that the SIS station chief has
to risk his life apprehending a terrorist on communist soil before Her Majesty’s government agrees to a simple paint job?’

  ‘The painter has to be flown in from London. We’re very security conscious. No locals are allowed in there unless cleared.’

  ‘Nothing is simple in our business. And this idea of yours is crazy. Don’t do it.’

  Harland looked at his friend. ‘It could be big. I just have this feeling. I know something’s going to happen.’

  Griswald sank in his chair and regarded him indulgently. ‘Well, you were right about the Arab, right to follow your nose on Kafka. So maybe you’ve got something going here. Maybe . . .’ He got up and held out his hand in an oddly final gesture. ‘If you really do find the pot of gold at the end of the communist rainbow and manage not to get arrested, cut me in, Bobby.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Harland, looking down at his new press pass and the passport in the name of Philip Liversedge. ‘But only after I’ve taken my share of the profits of chaos.’

  Rosenharte drove through the night to Leipzig. There had been just one more item in the papers about him, which stated that he was believed to have fled the country. He didn’t know whether to take this as a sign that the Stasi had given up looking for him, or that Zank had planted the story in order to lull him into making a mistake.